


something that shouldn't be said out loud

by Star_dancer54



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Geralt is a self-loathing overdramatic asshole, Getting Together, Inspired by Music, Introspection, Jaskier is Not a Coward, Jaskier is a feral bastard who barely has control of his anger, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, POV Alternating, Requited Love, Scent kink because this is Witcher fic, Timeline What Timeline, Unreliable Narrator, bamf!Jaskier, geralt's love language is acts of service, mentions of Jaskier/OCs, shitty anger management skills, some suicide ideation, you've got to hit the bottom before starting to rise above
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_dancer54/pseuds/Star_dancer54
Summary: For a long time, Geralt doesn't understand the bard. Jaskier doesn't understand the witcher, either, though, so at least they're evenly matched.A series of vignettes over the course of Geralt and Jaskier's not-a-relationship-except-it-totally-is.What do you want from me?Why don't you run from me?What are you wondering?What do you know?Why aren't you scared of me?Why do you care for me?When we all fall asleep,where do we go?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 178





	something that shouldn't be said out loud

**Author's Note:**

> So this is what happens when I listen to a song on loop. For days. The title, the section titles, the lyrics in the summary, even some of the wording choices are all either from Billie Elish's bury a friend or inspired by it. Originally my goal was for each part's alternating pov to have roughly the same word count but, as usual Jaskier blew that plan out of the water.  
> And also, I kinda think book!Geralt is the poor bastard stuck in Netflix!Geralt's head like some sort of secondary personality, so don't be surprised when the poor sod suddenly takes the wheel.  
> Also-also, chaya's [Ivy on the Hill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22247626) is responsible for the Jaskier-sings-shaming-songs-on-the-village-green thing - it is absolutely my headcanon, and I love them and it.  
> And finally! Thanks again to my betas, mine sister and my friend S.

**One: Wonder**

Geralt doesn't understand the bard.

He thinks he's around eighty years old when he meets the youth. Over the next decade or so he sees the young man mature and gain confidence and skill. While Geralt typically spends more time with long-lived individuals there is something... nice about watching the silly young man grow into someone who, while he can still be silly he also seems more self-aware of the silliness. 

Geralt starts to wonder if the silliness is, in its own way, a kind of armor to protect the admittedly soft bard.

Jaskier wonders if he'll ever understand the witcher.

As soon as he'd graduated from Oxenfurt and reached his majority, he had fled academia to find adventure. While he'd only been on the road for a few months (catching rides with caravans, mostly, as he's not a complete idiot), he knew as soon as he saw Geralt of Rivia that his destiny had been changed. Jaskier travels with the witcher on and off for over a decade. Even after that time, he still only feels as if he's just starting to see the currents underneath the mostly stony exterior.

He has only seen the witcher's softer nature a few times. More than anything Jaskier wishes that he was worthy enough to see what was underneath the thickly fortified armor and gruff manner that Geralt shows to anyone who wasn't Roach.

**Two: Scared**

The bard never smells like fear around Geralt.

If there is a pack of nekkers surrounding him, he may stink of terror until the problem is dealt with. Usually it's Geralt taking care of monsters, but Jaskier has managed to stab and kill a few of the creatures himself. 

When he's been cornered by a cuckolded noble, Jaskier sometimes smells of unease and nervousness, but also _amusement_ , the madman. Yennefer's appearance causes the bard to smell acrid and skitter away as quickly as humanly possible, citing weak reasons to be elsewhere, but no actual fear.

If he suddenly turns around to find Geralt closer than expected, or if he wakes from a nightmare or any other number of situations where a normal human would rear back with fear, there's... nothing. Or, at least Geralt smells nothing negative. Frequently, the bard will smell sweetly of relief or happiness when he comes across the witcher unexpectedly. That is not something that Geralt knows how to cope with.

It takes months of regular travel together before Jaskier understands that, on some level, Geralt is afraid a lot. 

Crowds have his shoulders creeping up to his ears, especially if he has to travel through a market to get to needed supplies and he can't find back alleys to take him there instead. When he finds himself surrounded by a pack of children, even if they're just flowing around him like a stream around a jutting rock on their way to somewhere else he freezes, not willing to move until the sprogs are more than three feet away. If something crashes while he's in a tavern Jaskier sees a small full-body flinch. There's a moment of stillness, as if Geralt is waiting for someone to blame him for the mess. Jaskier watches the witcher take a quiet, slow breath every time this happens before resuming whatever he'd been doing before.

It takes time – and a great deal of effort reining himself in to keep from moving too fast and ruining everything – to show that Jaskier is not one of the things Geralt should be afraid of. A brush of arms against one another no longer makes the witcher jerk away as if he's been stung. Eventually, he consents to letting Jaskier help him out of his armor. When he agrees to let Jaskier wash his hair, the bard has to step behind a nearby privacy screen to have a moment of silent joy.

**Three: Know**

Jaskier is careless with his body, Geralt decides.

He gets too close when Geralt is hunting something that could easily kill a human, especially if it's something he's not seen the witcher fight before. He gets into fights for _stupid_ reasons and frequently returns to their shared rooms with blood under his nose and on his teeth. The women – and occasional men – that bed him oftentimes leave marks behind, some that look painful and take days for his delicate skin to recover from. 

One winter, instead of returning to Kaer Morhen Geralt goes to the Temple of Melitele. He's decided to take an intensive healer's course on common human ailments and injuries. It's as much for self-defense as anything, as a few months prior Jaskier had come down with something that he swore he would recover from with a night's rest. Instead, it had left the bard bedridden and glassy-eyed for a full week. The only potions Geralt had on hand were toxic to humans, and there had been only one healer within a day's walk. The man had slammed the door in Geralt's face before he could explain that he wasn't there for himself. And of course the healer was also the apothecary, so he was unable to buy anything to ease the bard's suffering.

He does not want to be in such a situation again, and he has finally accepted that Jaskier is not going to be someone easy to get rid of. He might as well learn how to properly treat any other unwelcome surprises. 

Jaskier thinks Geralt is painfully aware of how intimidating his body appears. 

He takes great care to look as harmless as possible when dealing with the general public, avoiding direct eye contact unless absolutely necessary, pulling his shoulders in and stooping slightly to appear smaller. When he has to speak to victims or broken-hearted relatives he makes sure to crumple in on himself until he's shorter than them. He has even knelt on the floor before a seated mother clinging to her remaining child to tell her he will find the beast that stole her twins away. He never shows his temper to humans; no matter how ugly their words. His hands never clench into fists and his shoulders never stiffen into a combative stance. 

One winter, Jaskier returns to Oxenfurt to train with an old soldier, learning different self-defense techniques. He learns to grapple, and how to hit a target with a stone at thirty paces. He also learns how effective a stout tree branch – or, more likely, a broken leg from a bar stool – can be as a cudgel. If idiot villagers can't be persuaded with words to be kinder to his witcher, at least he can respond more effectively when they offer violence instead. And the next mercenary that thinks to use him as a bargaining chip to bend Geralt to their will shall be in for a hell of a surprise.

He never, ever wants to feel as helpless as he had the one time an upstart mayor had tried to hold him as hostage to force Geralt to clear out a nest of harpies for free. He makes a mental note that next winter he will work with a cat burglar he shares acquaintances with, to learn how to finesse locks as easily as he finesses his way into underclothes. 

**Four: Asleep**

Geralt can't sleep, and it's Jaskier's fault.

Logically, he knows that it's irrational to blame the bard; this is far from the first time that Jaskier has found his way into someone else's bed. This is also not the first time he's heard people having sex in the room next to him. This is, however, the first time that it's Jaskier who is having sex in the next room. 

The walls between rooms of this particular inn are not terribly thin, but a witcher's ears are more sensitive than the average human. Even though he's certain the occupants next door are trying to be quiet, he can't help but bring all his focus to bear on the soft sounds of pleasure. Those are the noises that _Jaskier_ makes as he enjoys another's body, and something about that knowledge is... disconcerting. 

Geralt tries to sink into a meditation, but for some reason that peace is just out of reach. He is becoming stupidly furious about the whole situation when the noises change, transforming into something quietly frantic. Like a child pretending monsters don't exist, he covers his ears, trying to drown out the sounds of someone reaching their climax.

He keeps his ears covered for a few minutes, and when he finally brings them down all he hears from the other room is gentle whispers that taper off into silence and the soft breaths of sleep.

Jaskier can't sleep, and he is fairly certain it's because of Geralt.

He knows that it's irrational to feel so worried about the witcher. This is nowhere near the first time he said it would only take a few hours to deal with the monsters he has been hired to deal with, only for it to take far longer than expected. Unfortunately, mayors and other government figures are oftentimes cheap and will downplay their problems to keep from paying a witcher his due, or a village will be too poor to be able to pay for the problem they know they have. Jaskier has taken to playing shaming songs in the middle of town squares to _encourage_ the former to cough up more money, but he suspects that this small village actually might be one of the latter. Considering the creature they have requested Geralt's skills to handle is a pack of ghouls and an alghoul, Jaskier is a bit hesitant to think what could be the actual threat. 

The room they're sharing is uncomfortably empty, even though Geralt left the gear he wouldn't need for dealing with necrophages. Jaskier has already arranged for the inn's wooden tub to be brought in and filled part of the way, and the maid had left several extra buckets next to the fire for when Geralt gets back.

He is still restless. He tries working on a ballad that has been giving him trouble, but he can't focus on it. He then tries tuning his lute, but it already sounds perfect. He finally gives up and sits at the window like a child awaiting a parent due home from the market, trying to see through the nearly-opaque panes.

When he hears the familiar heavy boots on the staircase outside, Jaskier finally feels like he can breathe.

**Five: Want**

The wanting sneaks up on Geralt, until he glances down from atop Roach's back to the bard walking beside them and realizes that it's there.

There's nothing in particular that's special about the moment. Jaskier is in his dark blue doublet and trousers with red embroidery around the cuffs, and he is focused on making sure that they hang just so. He's humming to himself, quietly enough that it's not obnoxious and he smells of something light and floral, and Geralt feels a pulse of want.

It's not lust, per se. Geralt is intimately familiar with that feeling from various encounters he's had over the years. Lust is burning and sudden, a lunge forward into the unknown.

Jaskier feels... known. It reminds Geralt of the comfort of a hot bath after a long day fighting or riding. The soothing sensation of a healing salve on an injury. Warm tea after a day in the cold.

It's a feeling that some quiet starved part of him craves so much if he were a different person it would bring his heart to his throat and tears to his eyes. 

_Oh_ , he thinks. _Oh no._

Jaskier knows that he's wanted Geralt for years, probably since laying eyes on him in that tavern in Posada all those years ago. 

Looking back, he knows that at first it was a simple, sudden crush that was devastating in its intensity. That, however, was not the first time he'd been infatuated. In the beginning he'd been in love with the adventure of it all, the romance of a brooding hero who is reviled for saving those that need saving.

It doesn't take long before that infatuation matures into a deep-seated fondness for the grumpy witcher. Nothing changes in their traveling together, as Jaskier refuses to push his suit on someone so emphatically uninterested in any sort of relationship that isn't transactionary. Then one evening Jaskier glances across the small fire to see Geralt's eyes reflect a flash of gold and an ache settles in his chest.

This is not simple lust, or infatuation, or mere fondness any longer. It's become something much more profound.

 _Oh_ , he thinks. _Oh, dear_.

**Six: Run**

The only thing keeping Geralt from fleeing when he finally understands what's been happening is the fact that they are in the middle of nowhere with the closest town being three days behind them.

He forces himself to stay as calm as possible, and pretends nothing is wrong when his hands clench on Roach's reins. 

The only thing keeping Jaskier from fleeing into the dark is that it's nearing the middle of the night and they're in swamplands with little to no settlements within walking distance.

He forces himself to breathe slowly and steadily, and pretends that nothing has changed as he grips the neck of his lute with a vice-like hold.

**Seven: Go**

It's almost a relief when Jaskier is summoned to a countessa's court for the birthday of the lady's daughter a few days later.

Good. That means he should be too busy to complain when Geralt moves on without him, following a contract on a nest of drowners a few days away. After that, it'll be something killing livestock a few days further away, and on it goes until it's time to return to Kaer Morhen. When he catches sight of the ancient fortress, he thinks it's been almost a year since last he saw the bard.

It's almost a relief when Yennefer is at the next town they happen upon. 

Good. That should keep Geralt occupied enough that he won't notice Jaskier slipping away. Not, he thinks bitterly, that the witcher would raise a fuss anyway. But there's a harvest festival in White Orchard that's calling his name. And after that he should probably consider heading back towards Oxenfurt. He'll see Geralt some time in the spring, he's sure.

**Eight: Care**

Geralt can't talk about it. So he tries to – consciously, now – show that the bard is important to him. He gets the bard a pair of sturdy, pretty boots as trade from a merchant he saves from wolves. They stop more frequently at inns and taverns so Jaskier can sleep in an actual bed rather than a bedroll. When they find themselves in a sudden rainstorm, Geralt unrolls the weatherproof cloak they'll sometimes use as a windbreak in camp and drops it on Jaskier's head.

He feels stupid doing this, but it's the best he can do. Even if he never has the nerve to speak, even if the thought of saying anything makes him want to head for the mountains and never come back down, he can at least make sure Jaskier is safe.

Jaskier can't keep avoiding it. It's closing in on two decades since he started traveling with Geralt, and while things have improved greatly over the years, there is still a part of himself that just. Can't let go. It's loathsome, the way his heart pines, and when Geralt shows any sort of kindness he feels it thump hard in yearning. He considers himself too old for this nonsense, that it should have faded _years_ ago, and yet.

He's so tired of his own stupidity, and decides that, the next time they reach a decent-sized town he'll tell Geralt. And he does. And it goes so much better than he could have hoped for.

**Nine: Go**

_Move_ , his brain snarls at him. _If you just stand there like a fucking statue he'll_ leave _and you'll have lost your chance-_

He moves. He raises his scarred, battered, _ugly_ hand towards Jaskier's cheek. 

He hesitates.

He watches Jaskier's eyes slide shut as the bard moves his cheek into the witcher's hand. Against the bard's smooth skin his own flesh doesn't look as ugly.

_Move_ Jaskier thinks at the witcher, keeping his damned mouth shut before he can make things worse. _I can't stand the not knowing any more_.

Geralt finally, _finally_ moves and it's not to turn away. His hand – so strong, capable, and skilled – rises to hover uncertainly by Jaskier's cheek. 

He can't help but close his eyes and sigh when he leans his face into the witcher's hand. The tightness in his chest eases so suddenly it hurts.

**Ten: Run**

What happens on the mountaintop is a disaster, and Geralt has no one to blame but himself.

He's eaten up with his own self-hatred, certain that he is exactly the monster Yennefer's eyes told him he was when she learned the truth about the wish. And he deserves her hatred, her revulsion, but rather than keeping it to himself he vomits the bile and venom and rot on the person who deserves it the least. 

He tries to rationalize it, thinking maybe this would be easier for both of them. Jaskier needs to understand sooner rather than later what he's been traveling with, even bedding for the past few years. Geralt is an abomination.

He hears something crack in Jaskier's voice when the bard whispers, “That's not fair.”

Some part of him knows this, and yet... This whole situation has spiraled out of control, and if he doesn't regain some sort of balance things will only get worse. He is a danger to be around, a manipulator who uses and hurts those he professes to care about. He's a killer. A monster. 

A butcher. 

_Make him run before you ruin him_ , a voice close to the surface of Geralt's mind hisses. So that's exactly what he sets out to do. He does this even as he thinks that he is something that shouldn't even exist. 

He listens to Jaskier walk away. When he hears the bard's pace shift to a run he closes his eyes. He thinks that he should have died on the table when the mages were pumping him full of mutagens. 

What happens on the mountaintop is a disaster, and Jaskier wonders how much of it is his to take blame for.

It's only after he's fled, first walking slowly then picking up speed as soon as he thinks he's out of Geralt's range of hearing, that the hurt begins to take second place to something else. For a few, sweet moments he gets more of the numbness he felt when Geralt first spat out his wish, but it quickly fades.

A familiar, deep-seated rage breaches the surface of his mind and replaces the numbness and hurt. 

This is not the first time he's felt this overwhelming, tempestuous fury. At one time it was a frequent occurrence, especially before he fled his birthplace. It had stopped visiting as often when he was at Oxenfurt, though that bastard Marx became very good at awakening the beast merely by being in the same room as Jaskier. 

Family, so-called dear friends… These were the people who could wake this particular fury in Jaskier's heart, as it is the kind that comes from a starting point of caring. For all that he's a known flirt, he has learned not to trust easily, and when that rare trust gets abused and broken, he just wants to hurt the people who betrayed and hurt him. And at this moment, as he gathers his few belongings at the campsite his hands shake with how much he wants to _decimate_ Geralt. 

He could. The temptation is... very great. But his better self tells him to run. _Run before you ruin him. Run before you can regret your actions._ And since there is little of that 'better self' left not drowned by rage, he listens.

His heartbeat booms in his chest and he feels like he's trying to cage a thunderstorm in his body, but he runs before he can do any more damage.

**Eleven: Want**

Geralt works himself to the bone before he admits to himself that he was fucking stupid.

He takes on contracts that are dangerous for a solitary witcher that's already off his game. He lets his potions and ingredients get so low he's taking a risk every time he hoists his sword in preparation for a fight. His armor becomes more and more damaged as he ignores the need for maintenance.

The only things that he keeps scrupulously taken care of are his swords and Roach. The mare, after all, does not deserve his shitty behavior any more than Jaskier did.

Jaskier. The name haunts him. He knows that the only way it will stop is if he confronts the ghost.

Even if he still worries that everything he touches will become tainted, he at least owes Jaskier some sort of apology for his terrible behavior.

He starts for Oxenfurt, certain that the bard will have gone to roost there. However, before he arrives he hears of Nilfgaard marching towards Cintra. His source tells him that there is an endless army, and they are destroying everything in their path.

When he hears the news he can't help but hesitate. He doesn't know what to do.

No, that's a lie. He puts aside what he wants and goes to do what he must.

Jaskier wears himself to the bone before he comes to his senses and remembers that he has some sense of self-preservation and control.

The heartbreak is.. useful, in its way. He has finished so many songs and poems and some of them have become maddeningly popular. The fury has its own use as well, and some of the carefully-edited songs and poems inspired by it have been received well. 

As soon as he'd returned to Oxenfurt, he threw himself into writing, planning, teaching, fucking, drinking... distracting himself, to put it bluntly.

It only works until he hears that Cintra has been sacked and the Nilfgaardian army is headed North. He manages to catch word from an acquaintance that soldiers have been looking for Geralt. He knows in his bones that they'll be looking for him as well. 

So he takes a few important belongings and flees. He's not certain what his goal is, or where he will wind up, but he does know that he is too well-known and easy to find in Oxenfurt. 

He vaguely remembers Geralt talking of his school, somewhere in the Blue Mountains near the Gwynllech river. Perhaps he can head in that direction. He doesn't know if he hopes to run into Geralt or not, but any place is better than here. 

No. That's a lie. He knows what he wants.

**Twelve: Asleep**

Geralt can't sleep, and he knows it's only partially out of worry for Ciri's safety. Something scratches at his insides. It keeps him from any sort of peaceful rest, keeps his meditation from being the centering comfort it usually is. 

He has learned that Jaskier has fled Oxenfurt, and that Nilfgaard searches for him almost as much as they hunt for Geralt himself. He doesn't know where the bard has gone; he hopes that Jaskier's found somewhere safe to stay.

Tomorrow, Geralt and Ciri will arrive in Vespaden, and it will be the last stop to pick up supplies for the journey to Kaer Morhen. He hopes that the city is big enough that few would make note of another pair of refugees fleeing as far as they can from the invading army. 

Jaskier can't sleep, and he knows exactly why. He has been in Vespaden a little too long, and he feels the net coming ever closer, hope draining away. 

He had lucked out and caught a ride on a trading vessel headed north to Lan Exeter. The captain was willing to pause long enough for him to disembark at the mouth of the Buina, which saved him some time and weary feet. His plan was to buy a horse and follow the river to Vespaden, hopefully beating Geralt to the town. He would hang around as quietly as a bard can, gathering supplies he thinks will be useful and waiting to see if the witcher showed up. 

He has been successful in his self-appointed tasks. He wound up purchasing a three-year-old mule incongruously named Goose. Before arriving in Vespaden he managed to talk a nearby farmer into the loan of an empty shed. It was an excellent place to store the supplies he purchased, especially after he found a suitable padlock to prevent looting. More haggling and he successfully swindled an old, rather bedraggled cart out of the man as well.

The problem is, as the weeks creep closer to a month in this town, he starts to worry. Either Geralt has already gone or he is not coming through this particular town.

Time is running out and he is out of ideas.

**Thirteen: Know**

As soon as Geralt passes through the town's gates, he _knows_.

There is something in the air, and it sets his teeth on edge. The wind shifts and he can smell blood, not a small amount, and also Jaskier. He hears a _lot_ of screaming and cursing, the sounds of at least ten people running flat out. He thinks he also catches a sound of mad laughter that... might... be... the bard.

The guards at the gate very pointedly keep looking outwards, watching for invaders rather than finding the source of the chaos. Geralt suspects they've been bribed to turn a blind eye, and he stifles the urge to bare his teeth. He considers for a moment, but he already knows what he's going to do.

Ciri, at least, is safe. She's hiding in a farmstead about half an hour's ride west of here, now empty of the nest of necrophages they'd found feeding on the owner and his livestock. After dealing with the dead, he'd left Ciri tucked into the hardest-to-reach spot they could find in the farmhouse. He'd then mounted Roach and rode as quickly as the mare was willing to go to Vespaden.

Part of Geralt feels guilty at the plan he's started developing. As he had been killing the necrophages - only a few ghouls, and fat from the slaughter - he had spotted a cart in the barn. Under normal circumstances he would never scavenge from the dead, but... He could hitch Roach to the cart and haul Ciri and any supplies more easily up the trail to Kaer Morhen. His Child Surprise would be less obvious hiding among sacks of food and alcohol (maybe even a few cages with hens, if he's lucky) than riding Roach with him. At least, Geralt hopes so.

He'll fish his bard out of whatever madness he's gotten himself tangled up in this time, apologize, and see about coaxing Jaskier into joining them at Kaer Morhen for the winter. After that, he can start hunting for supplies, hopefully with the bard.

As he unsheathes the sword he took from Cintra, he thinks for possibly the thousandth time how much he wishes he had found his fucking armor. He feels naked, tired, and unprepared for another fight, but if he can save the bard's hide perhaps Jaskier will be in a forgiving mood and Geralt won't have to grovel a lot.

As soon as Jaskier leaves his rented room, he _knows_.

The air in the inn is too still.

He doesn't even bother going down the stairs – he moves as quietly as possible for the window at the end of the hall. He knows that just outside is the roof for the kitchens, and if he can cross fast enough- 

Someone must have been expecting him because before he can get his foot over the sill he is grabbed and dragged back, cursing and fighting as hard as he can. He drops his weight, slipping out of his attacker's arms to the floor and making sure to entangle the man's arms in his lute's strap. He gets a hand on his dagger and manages to slit open an unprotected abdomen on his way back up, using his other hand to grab another attacker's balls and squeezing with a crushing grip. The man screams like a trapped rabbit, and Jaskier can't help but smile with all his teeth. He kicks the disemboweled man towards the others, aiming to create space around himself. He uses the attacker whose genitals he's crushing as a meat shield in case anyone wants to attempt to use a projectile. 

The moment he's clear he can see the light from the window gleam on armor that is not Nilfgaardian black, and for that he feels a moment of gratitude. Mercenaries, then. Probably paid by Nilfgaard. Which means they probably want him alive, and as he does not want the same for his attackers, he has a chance. 

He takes a breath to consider his options, and decides to try for the window again. He flings his sobbing meat shield at the other attackers. In the moment of confusion he uses his lute in its case to bludgeon the window to pieces and bounds out. He immediately darts to the side , before a crossbow bolt can find a home in his hide. His shoes are not the best for climbing on rooftops, but he will work with what he has. 

These mercenaries have no idea who they're dealing with.

**Fourteen: Scared**

Geralt follows the noise and comes across the bard in a secluded courtyard surrounded by five men, one with an arm around Jaskier's throat. The others are closing in on him, and Geralt feels a tightness in his chest, a growl threatening in his throat. He chokes it back, waiting. 

The men aren't in Nilfgaardian armor, but Geralt suspects they're hoping for money from them. One of the probable-mercenaries pauses and lets his companions come in closer to the bard. As they walk closer, the man speaks.

“They'll pay us good gold for you, Bard, but they'll pay better for that witcher of yours. Tell us where he is and we won't hurt you.” A dramatic pause, and the mercenary finishes with, “Much. You did, after all, kill Torvik's favorite brother.”

“Darling, I have no idea who or what you're talking about.” Jaskier smiles... or more like, bares his teeth. He doesn't seem terribly worried about the arm around his throat, or the men reluctantly coming closer like they might be a little afraid of him. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

“No we don't. You're Jaskier the bard, close friends with the fucking Butcher of Blaviken.”

Jaskier lets out a harsh laugh. “Your information is out of date. I've not seen him in almost a year, and at that time the bastard told me he never wanted to see me again. I have no fucking clue where he is, and, not to be cliché, even if I did I wouldn't tell the likes of _you_.” He's looking at the mercenaries around him, one by one, and his eyes absolutely do catch sight of Geralt behind them. His eyes flick away, locking on the leader again. “And if you _do_ see him, tell the bastard I shan't speak to him 'til he apologizes. He owes me _that_ , at the very least.”

“I'm _right here_ ,” Geralt growls. “Jaskier, I'm fucking _sorry_ , okay?” As the majority of the mercenaries turn to gape at him, Jaskier seizes the distraction.

Jaskier follows Geralt's words with movement, knowing this is an excellent diversion. The man with his forearm against Jaskier's throat has loosened his grip at the sight of the witcher. Jaskier tucks and twists his chin down into the weak hold and bites and _rips the everloving shit_ out of the idiot's bare arm. The man goes rigid with pain but Jaskier's already slipping out of his grasp, going for the dagger at the man's back. That is _his damned dagger_ and it has sentimental meaning and he is not going to lose it today. 

Though he does return the dagger to the man long enough to slide it between his legs, going for the major artery in the thigh. Judging from the immediate heat and wetness, either the man pisses himself or Jaskier is successful, and before the man hits the ground Jaskier's on to another enemy.

As he grapples with a man with a bludgeon, he hears Geralt engage in combat with the leader. He bares his teeth in a feral smile – the man had looked like he wished he were anywhere else when he'd turned and seen the witcher bearing down on him. Serves the bastard right. Jaskier's opponent manages a lucky swipe to his ribs and he focuses back to the fight before him.

He hears a death scream from the leader, and the noise distracts his opponent long enough for Jaskier to close in and slip his dagger into the man's armpit. He wrenches his blade and as the man crumples he lays claim to the man's cudgel. “Mine,” he tells the man bleeding at his feet, delivering a sharp rap on the man's head with it to knock him out. 

After making sure that his two enemies are down and not likely to get up, he calmly hops over a body. He skips a few steps, then stabs the last remaining mercenary just as he turns to flee.

As the body drops, he locks eyes with Geralt. His temper flares.

**Fifteen: Wonder**

When the last mercenary falls, Geralt can't help but stare at the bard. 

Jaskier stands tall with his lute on his back, blood on his lips and running down his chin. His pale blue doublet is spattered with blood, but from the lack of rips it's not his. His familiar dagger and a cudgel that Geralt does not recognize drip in the bard's hands. 

_Oh,_ Geralt thinks. He thinks it's just as well that witchers can't blush, otherwise the flush of inappropriate arousal would be obvious on his cheeks.

The smile is gone from Jaskier's face, and he moves towards Geralt with a glide that the witcher does not recognize. He's starting to wonder if he knows Jaskier at all, but before he can figure out what he feels about it, Jaskier is in his face, looking determined and furious and-

“You stubborn bastard,” Jaskier growls before hitting Geralt solidly in the arm with the cudgel. He is not gentle, and if Geralt wasn't a witcher he probably would have at least a cracked bone. “Over twenty fucking _years_ and you think you can just send me off without so much as a by-your-leave?” He thumps the witcher again. “And then you think you can just – fucking - _apologize_ in the most fucking _dramatic possible way_ \- drama is _my_ bailiwick, you bastard -” at every emphasis, the bard hits the witcher with the cudgel and Geralt is at least glad Jaskier chose the cudgel instead of the dagger, for all that he'd deserve to bleed.

Something of what he's thinking must show on his face, because Jaskier stops hitting him and glares at him. “I'll not tolerate that look of self-loathing on your face, Witcher. I've had a very long day for not being awake more than a few hours, and considering the amount of bullshit that I've already dealt with, I'm not in the mood for yours, too.” 

The bard steps away, kicks one of the corpses, and stalks over to the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. The water is pristine until he sets his weapons on the edge of the fountain and starts rinsing the blood off of his face and hands. 

Geralt hesitantly approaches and starts to clean the blood off of his own skin, waiting to see what comes next.

When Geralt approaches the fountain, Jaskier can't help but watch him for a moment. 

The witcher... does not look well. His clothes are almost as threadbare as they'd been when Jaskier first met him, and they hang badly. He's thinner than he should be, Jaskier thinks; as he goes to wash his hands, Geralt's shirt sleeves keep slipping down his forearms like there's not enough muscle to hold them at the elbows in the manner he usually wears.

Jaskier still wants to eat him alive, however, and as soon as he no longer has the taste of blood in his mouth he turns to Geralt and informs him, “If you don't want me kissing you, I suggest you say something now.”

The witcher gives him a startled look, but makes no effort to speak. When Jaskier reaches for him, Geralt meets him halfway.

The kiss is not gentle but it is _good_ , and Jaskier sinks his hands in Geralt's hair and _pulls_. The witcher makes a surprised sound in his throat but wraps his hands around Jaskier's waist, tugging him closer. 

He's still riding high on bloodlust from being hunted across the rooftops and cornered in this Little Courtyard from Hell, but as the kiss continues he starts to feel calmer. He breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against Geralt's. He closes his eyes.

“We are not okay,” he tells the witcher. 

“I know,” Geralt says softly. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm not ready to forgive you.”

“I know.” Geralt shifts his head, pressing a kiss against Jaskier's forehead. It's one of the sweetest things the witcher has ever done to him. He's surprised to hear Geralt continue speaking, as if it's easier when he doesn't have to look Jaskier in the eye. “The way I treated you was... unforgivable. That is not the way to treat a friend.”

“A friend,” Jaskier repeats, feeling something twist in his stomach. Before he can start to pull away, Geralt presses his cheek against his forehead and keeps talking. 

“Of all the humans I've come across in my years as a witcher, you are my dearest friend, and I am so sorry for never saying that aloud.” He pauses a moment, and it feels like he's breathing in the smell of Jaskier's hair.

“And if I want... more?” He hates himself for the crack in his voice, the weakness and yearning that he knows Geralt can't help but hear. 

He didn't realize how tense Geralt had been holding himself until the tension was gone. “Then I will do whatever I can to prove that I am worthy of that desire.”

“'Whatever you can'?” Jaskier repeats thoughtfully. He is working _very hard_ to not just immediately swoon and forgive all of Geralt's trespasses. He pulls Geralt's head down to his to look him in the eyes. “What if I said I wanted to go with you to Kaer Morhen?”

“I'd say supplies would be tricky to gather, since we're standing in the middle of a mess of corpses, but I was actually hoping to run into you to ask if you were willing to come.”

“Actually...” Jaskier drawls. “Supplies may not be a problem.”

**Author's Note:**

> I Swear to Fuck I did not used to write this long. Thanks, Witcher fandom. Or maybe it's age. Idefk.


End file.
